Ravensblood Forest a man that’s down to fight

'n what ah y' slippery fuckers think yer doi'n? calls a raucous voice haunted by the depths of an ocean's cruelty, twisted by hate.

a gangly bastard, he was. all sinew and legs, brandishing scars that speak of both victories and bitter losses—of course, such is up to the interpreter of the map his body paints. thick paws eat up the terrain of ravensblood and he looks between the two trespassers.

an unlikely duo, these two!

yer traipsin' on conquered lands. he puffs his chest, fitting them both with the sickly veneer of a cruel grin. either ye kiss me cp'ns paws n' join the crew, er y' best fuck off.